Once Upon a Shire
by H.J. Bender
Summary: The untold stories of the adventures and misadventures of Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took, from the very beginning. DISCONTINUED
1. Once Upon a Shire

**Once Upon a Shire **

**By:** H.J. Bender

**Completed:** 3/8/2004

**Synopsis:** Things are not all smiles and mushrooms when Meriadoc Brandybuck meets the newest member of the Took family.

**Foreword:** Based more off of the books than films but with enough information that nobody should get lost too badly. Everything belongs to Tolkien except for this little thing you're about to read here. Do enjoy!

* * *

_"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."_ - Anaïs Nin

* * *

Births in the Shire were of no especial importance, being as common as they were and in such multitude in the more populated areas like Hobbiton and Buckland, to name a few. The initial news of an upcoming babe however always made for an exciting and favoured occasion amongst the immediate family members, particularly the lasses and ladies who were always readily anticipating having another plump hobbit babe to coddle over; at least until the tot reached that most wonderful age of tantrums and conniptions, where then the legions of doting relatives seemed to thin dramatically until the child was fully grown and had little babes of their own. Then it would start all over in succession, passing much as everything had been since the beginning with little change in each new generation save for a few oddities here and there. Nothing extraordinary or terrific was there about the miracle of new additions to the family aside from the established appreciation given to the mother for her devotion and love, and a job well done.

So when first Esmeralda Brandybuck told her young son Meriadoc that his Uncle Pal (then properly known as Paladin Took the Second) and Aunt Eglantine were going to have a baby, he was not at all surprised. His uncle after all had three other children, lovely daughters of fair complexion and light chestnut curls, but what Paladin wanted most was a son. It was not that he did not love his daughters -for indeed he did with all the care a proud father should- but the fact of the matter was that he was the Thain of the Shire, the chief of defence in most rights, though it had been long since there was any call to arms in any of the four farthings. But what arms were not on display in the mathom at Michel Delving were still held by the Tooks, and the role of Thain was passed down through the males of Paladin's family since the days of his Great Grandfather Gerontius, known also as the Old Took for the many years he lived. Forever since there has always been a Took to take up the seat of Thain at the Great Smials of Tuckborough.

But after several years of trying with little luck for a son, Paladin began to worry for his lineage; so when it became apparent that his wife Eglantine was heavy with child once again, there was both joy and anxiety in his spirit. As the months drew on and Eglantine swelled, many of the wizened hobbit-wives began to postulate that this fourth child would indeed be the son that was so greatly desired. Paladin, though encouraged by this news, refused to allow himself to take these predictions for truth until he had seen for himself.

That day had now come in the spring of 1390 (by Shire Reckoning) and it was something of a momentous occasion for both the Tooks and the Brandybucks, particularly since Esmeralda was Paladin's sister and the relations of their families so closely knit. The Thain was throwing a small family celebration in honour of his new son -Peregrin was his name- and they were of course invited. Meriadoc (shortened to Merry out of endearment) thought that this was quite a bit of fuss to be making over one little baby and was wholly put out at all the attention his new cousin seemed to be receiving.

Merry was after all an only child and a young one at that, having only reached his eighth year as hobbits ken. His father Saradoc, the Master of Buckland and Brandy Hall, knew of the restlessness his brother-in-law felt as far as family lines were concerned and counted himself blest that his first child happened to be a boy. But any voiced concern of Merry's was disregarded as he was lifted into a waggon that bore him several long miles across the East and West Farthings with his parents and a few other of his close Buckland kin. His mood was already soured from being awoken so early that morning, and the tedious journey and the light rain-showers encountered during the ride to Tookland only made it worse; but it was the detestable, uncomfortable outfit he was forced to wear that truly made his demeanor a foul one.

And thus Meriadoc Brandybuck swore that from that day henceforth, until he died or his senses were lost, to have nothing to do with Peregrin Took, and to think of him as fondly as one would a splinter in their finger.

* * *

Instead of taking the East Road through the centre of Hobbiton, Saradoc and family went the lesser route through Woody End and the borders of Green Hill Country to avoid having to turn south at Waymeet and double back past Tookbank. It was thus well after nightfall by the time the many glowing yellow windows set into a great silhouette of rolling hills glowed into view, and the Brandybucks and Tooks converged upon the threshold of the Great Smials after the waggon had been unhitched and the ponies led away.

It was indeed a greater fuss than Merry had originally supposed, almost as if it were a fabulous holiday or a festive ball. He thought it quite unnecessary but he nonetheless wormed his way between the concourse of loudly chattering and bantering relatives, some of whose faces he'd never seen in his life, and helped himself to the vittles ere finding a bench in a nice corner to sit in and brood indignantly by his lonesome.

He was a little comforted to see his cousin Merimas Brandybuck in attendance and looking as bored as he was, but he soon lost sight of him and gave up all hope for good company, since Fredegar (Fatty) Bolger was no-where to be seen. He did however catch a glimpse of Everard Took and they sat together and talked for a while, sighing tragically in the way young people do over the whole affair as if it were really the most horrifically boring thing in all their lives. But soon Everard fell asleep and his mother gathered him up and put him to bed.

Meriadoc yawned and was wondering just how much longer he could endure sitting in that corner when a rustle of fabric came as someone settled down onto the bench next to him. 'It is quite a ruckus, isn't it? You'd think that I bore a golden elf with all the bustle being stirred up here.'

Merry looked up to see his Aunt Eglantine, perhaps a little wearied and drawn but still bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, wink at him gaily, holding in her arms the small bundle that was the source of this daft commotion.

'Evenin' Aunt Eg,' Merry said deftly and with a great tone of tragedy. 'Is that Peregrin?' He nodded towards the infant.

'Indeed it is,' she said. 'but I've taken to calling him Pippin.'

Merry tried not to scowl visibly but the very mention of that nick-name made him want to curl his lip and hunch down like an old miser. It sounded disgustingly naïve and innocent even though he already held this Peregrin -this sweet adorable Pippin- accountable for ruining his life; surely now Pippin was going to steal the hearts and attention of the entire Shire and all of the other little lads would be overlooked. In Merry's child-mind he assumed that no one was going to want him anymore now that Pippin was around, this magnificent son-of-the-Thain-of-the-whole-entire-Shire who was probably going to grow up to be charming and perfectly behaved and devastatingly handsome. Merry thought he would like to run away and die to save himself the inevitable torment in later years.

Eglantine interrupted his thoughts by asking, 'Would you like to hold him, Merry?'

'Never!' he cried too suddenly and drew himself down into a dark little figure. 'I'd drop 'im like a stone and everyone would hate me. No thank you, Aunt Eg.'

'Nonsense!' Eglantine laughed. 'You can balance a tea tray in one hand and a dish of scones in the other while hopping on one foot without spilling a thing--and don't you contradict me, Meriadoc. I've been to tea at Brandy Hall plenty of times and seen for myself just how graceful and gentle you are. If anything, won't you at least hold him a moment while I go chat with some of the guests?'

Merry looked worried and reluctant but held out his arms nonetheless, and received the bundle named Pippin as gingerly as one would a hissing opossum.

'Yes, just lean your arm up a bit like that and support his head; hold him close. Well, there you go! You make a marvelous baby-holder, Merry,' said Eglantine as she rose to leave. 'And don't fret--if you drop him I won't tell a soul.'

'I hope for my sake that I won't,' Merry said. After his aunt had left he looked down at Pippin and harrumphed softly to himself, and hoped none of the other lads would come about and see him playing baby-sitter. 'So,' he said to Pippin. 'Why don't they call you Perry instead? Peregrin and all that. It makes more sense for your name to be Perry.' A smile came to Merry's face for a moment. 'Merry and Perry. We'd almost sound like a team then, wouldn't we?'

But then he bolstered his indifference and said, 'Well, I could see why the name Pippin would fit you; you're about as red as one.' He gazed down at the plump, rosy cheeks of the sleeping babe. 'I thought I should tell you now: I'm having nothing to do with you, y' know. I've gone through a great bother all because of you and it won't be the end of it, I can tell. You're goin' to get me into trouble before the end or my name isn't Meriadoc Brandybuck. Thank goodness I live in East Farthing otherwise I don't know how I'd be able to stand havin' you so close around. Pippin, son of the Thain,' Merry scoffed. 'Well you are certainly the apple of Uncle Pal's eye, probably other folks', too. Don't think for a moment I won't forget this easily, so you'd best be ready to rue the day when you're old enough to get me into trouble. I've got my eye on you, _Pippin_. Don't you try anything.'

Little Pippin yawned and opened his eyes up at his cousin, who fell silent and said no more. Then Aunt Eglantine returned and relieved Merry of his burden, and he noted the room felt much colder without that warm bundle held against his body. Then he hardened his heart and put the incident out of his mind, and returned to sulking alone.

* * *

Life in the west-lands of Middle Earth flourished peacefully under blue skies and fey sweet breezes carried from the sea many leagues away, and in no time at all five years had gone by in the Shire (at its own reckoning naturally); the rains had come and passed, harvest times and light snow and lazy summer days when the sun kissed the green hills of West Farthing and glittered upon the face of the Brandywine. Fair had the months been of late, and all peoples seemed to be in good spirits because of it. The Shire-folk were content as they went about their lives with their minds seldom reflecting upon matters beyond when the next meal of the day occurred or tending to their trades, whether it be gardening or tailoring or farming or raising up their young ones. Even some of the lesser well-off hobbits found a spring in their step and a whistle on their lips for the good years that had been keeping up appearances, and for the most part, things were tranquil and happy.

Or at least they were until the day _he_ showed up again.

* * *

'Bless me, Eglantine! Have you been feeding this child?' Esmeralda Brandybuck laughed as her sister-in-law stepped over the broad threshold of Brandy Hall and let young Pippin down from her arms.

'Constantly, Ez, but nothing seems to stick to him,' said Eglantine. 'he could gorge himself for weeks on end but never put on an ounce. I do hope he fills out more when he reaches his teens.'

Esmeralda picked the lad up and set him upon her hip. 'Well, plump or no, what a handsome hobbit he is! It's been years since Merry was small enough to carry like this, and I do miss the sound of children's voices sometimes.'

'You can always change that,' Eglantine winked. 'I'm certain Saradoc wouldn't mind providing your with a few more sons or daughters.'

'O goodness!' laughed Esmeralda. 'I couldn't possibly! Merry is quite an hand-full to look after alone without two or three little ones running about.'

'Speaking of Merry, where has he gotten to? I was hoping he could look after Pippin while you and I rode to Bucklebury.'

'Half a moment--I'll call him,' said Esmeralda as she went to one of the round windows and leaned out. 'Merry! Eglantine is here!'

Shortly Merry, now a feisty thirteen year-old, came trotting happily in from playing a game with the other children and greeted his aunt ere halting dead in his tracks when his eyes fell upon his mother and the _thing_ she had, that _creature_ he had been trying to avoid for the past five years with some success, now face-to-face with it and caught completely unarmed. The pint-sized thing smiled at him happily and Merry felt his insides begin to rot.

'Hullo, Merry! How tall you've gotten,' said Eglantine. 'It certainly is good to see you looking so well. What a fine upright lad you're going to become! Let me see that handsome face of yours; oh yes. You're a dandy, young master, and no mistake. You must be Saradoc's pride and joy! My, how long has it been since you've last seen Pippin?'

Merry thought queasily, _'Not long enough.'_

Pippin wriggled out of Esmeralda's arms and made a direct line for Merry, who was by now looking for a window to throw himself at or something that could be used to keep the offending youngster from getting too close. Alas that he did not think more quickly, for Pippin was soon fastened tightly about Merry's waist like a snake that strangles its prey. Merry recoiled and tried to remove the child without actually touching him; of course Esmeralda and Eglantine thought that this display was simply too adorable and were cooing over it like a pair of dove.

'Bless me, will you look at that! I do believe Pippin has found his new best friend.'

'No!' cried Merry with horror tainting his panicked voice.

'Isn't that darling? I don't even think he rightly knows your name or who you are.'

'He usually doesn't warm to folk as quickly as that. He must see something special in you, Merry.'

'He can't! He doesn't!' he insisted, and Merry grabbed a nearby walking-cane and used it as a lever to pry the grinning child from his person. 'Won't somebody get 'im off me?'

'He gets clingy sometimes,' said Eglantine as she went to Merry's side and removed her son, who then began to struggle and squirm frantically.

'Meddy! Meddy!' he cried with his arms reaching out toward his cousin, who tried not to look too happy to be rid of the parasitic burden in front of his aunt.

'Gracious me! Did you hear that, Ez? He said Merry's name!'

'I don't recall ever mentioning it to him directly,' said Esmeralda.

'My Meddy!' Pippin insisted adamantly until his mother put him down and he re-attached himself to his cousin defencively. '_My_ Meddy,' he repeated.

'No no no!' Merry despairingly groaned as if he had been sentenced to his death. 'I'm not your Meddy! Tell 'im no, Aunt Eg! He's squeezing my guts out!'

'Don't throw such a fuss, Merry,' scolded his mother. 'I'm expecting you to keep an eye on Pippin while Aunt Eg and I go to town. We'll be back in a few hours and I don't want to hear of any trouble, understand?'

Merry was mortified. 'You can't leave me with 'im! You simply can't! I can't-! I mean, Folco and I were playin' Bases with some of the other lads and-'

Interrupted Esmeralda, 'Well, I suppose you'd best find something else to do until we return. Uncle Mac is right next door if anything terrible happens which I hope it won't.'

'But I-!'

'No more words, Meriadoc! You will look after your cousin and that's that!'

Suddenly it seemed as if that death sentence were not quite such a figure of speech, and Esmeralda and Eglantine departed from Brandy Hall before Merry could think of an excuse to give. But without them around he could perhaps set things right with Pippin, so as soon as they were out of sight down the road Merry took hold of his little cousin and forcibly removed him. Pippin seemed to think it was a game and was laughing in his high, sweet voice until Merry scowled so terribly at him that he became quite silent.

For a while he said nothing and merely stared at Pippin with narrow eyes and arms crossed over his chest; Pippin stared back as if waiting for Merry's permission to speak. He was a fine, bright-eyed young boy with lighter than usual locks of curls -almost golden brown they were- and a narrow though fair and elegant face with a pert mouth that was wont to smile endlessly. His eyes were not as plain brown as many hobbits' were, instead they were a twinkling green, like the grass on a dewy summer's morn. His nose was perhaps sharper than most folks', his frame was a bit scrawny and slender but it did not make Pippin ugly; rather it made him look more cunning and capable of mischief than a homely, well-rounded lad. Merry had a sixth sense when it came to determining if one were capable of stirring up trouble, and as far as he could tell it was practically dripping off of Pippin like water.

'All right, you,' Merry said at last as he stood firmly. 'let's get a few things straight here. Firstoff my name is _Merry_, not Meddy, and I'm not yours, so _there_. Secondly I'll have you know that I'm not your guardian, so whatever trouble you stir up is your own fault, understand? Are you listenin' to me?'

But Pippin had quickly gotten bored of hearing his cousin talk and was now engaged in the exploration of the immediate premises with or without him. Merry yelped as Pippin made for the fancy vase on the end table, and swatted him away from it. Then it became a game (at least for the younger of the two) to run throughout the entire house from one fragile object to the next and try to send it shattering down to the floor. Though his legs were short, Pippin was small and swift, and Merry was quite out of breath from chasing him all over Brandy Hall ere long; it was only a matter of time before he had to collapse into a nearby chair to rest, leaving Pippin unattended.

Then there came a horrible shattering sound that curdled Merry's blood like rotten cream, and he flew into the drawing room and saw little Pippin standing over the pile of powder that was once one of Esmeralda's coveted china book-ends. Merry wanted to cry and roar and be sick all at once--he reached his trembling hands out towards Pippin and said quite calmly as if nothing had happened, 'I am goin' to murder you, Peregrin Took. I am goin' to break every little bone in your body until you're soft as a rotted tomato, and _then_ I'm goin' to beat you all over with a club until you're blue and black and green, and _then_-' He started toward Pippin, who was very, very frightened by now and retreating slowly away from his deranged cousin. '-I am goin' to bury you out in the Old Forest where the Barrow-wights will be your only playmates, and I'll tell Aunt Eg that you fell into the river and were carried off by the current and drownded.' Merry smiled insanely. 'It'll be perfect! I'll be blamed for breakin' Mum's book-end and for lettin' you wander off into the river but it's more than worth it to get you out of my life! Come 'ere, Pippin, my dear little cousin!'

The young Took let out a squeal like a frightened piglet and ran away from Merry as fast as he could. Merry chased him out the front door and across the broad lawn before Brandy Hall, through three different gardens (trampling many of the flowerbeds) and into the glade where he and the other boys had been playing Bases earlier. Somehow or another Pippin succeeded in getting away from him and disappearing out of sight, which made Merry all the angrier. 'Fie!' he shouted. 'Curse you, Peregrin Took! you wretched, snotty little brat! You'd better not come back here or else! I hope you get lost and eaten by wolves! Good riddance!'

There were of course no wolves within miles and miles of the Shire, and now Merry had to deal with his mother's broken book-end all by himself. He half hoped that Pippin would show up again later so that he could carry out his grim deed of murder and deceit, but he hoped more fervently that he get lost for good in the forest and never be seen again. That cheered Merry up greatly just thinking about it.

He returned to Brandy Hall and began the task of first trying to piece together the book-end, but it proved hopeless. He would simply have to tell his mother that it was an accident; for even if he said that Pippin had broken it she wouldn't believe him, or assume that he and Pippin had been rough-housing about, in which case Merry would be blamed also. For the next hour he rehearsed his explanation for the accident while the remains of the book-end sat tied up in his handkerchief on the table, and did nothing to quell the dread festering in the pit of his stomach. And if Pippin didn't return soon he'd be blamed for that, too--or at least the murder of him, for Merry fully intended to keep his promise if ever he saw his cousin again. Whatever the outcome of this event, it did not bode well for Meriadoc Brandybuck, who feared his father's belt more than a pack of ravening hounds (though he had never been confronted with a pack of ravening hounds, but he imagined that if he were he would gladly throw himself on their mercy rather than to face the disgruntled Master of the Hall armed with a belt).

So when Merry at last heard the sounds of his aunt and mother approaching up the front walk, he stoked his courage and went out to meet them in the foyer. He held the handkerchief gingerly and succeeded in only stuttering, 'There was an accident while you were away…' to the piercing gaze of his elders ere a small blur of curls rushed in from the still-ajar front door and placed itself between Merry and his Inevitable Doom--a blur of curls that was the missing Peregrin Took; he gazed up at his aunt and mother pitifully while all words hitched in Merry's throat, and he tried to decide whether or not to cut him down right there in front of everybody or just wait it out and see what happens, and then make a move to kill him if he started to blame Merry for anything. Luckily the rational side of his mind won the latter for the count and he was rendered silent.

'Goodness! What's all this about an accident?' said Esmeralda.

'I bloke your book-end Auntie Ez,' Pippin murmured in his small voice. 'Meddy tried to stope me. I d-didn't mean to blake it.' Tears began to run down his cheeks, and he rubbed them away with his little fists. 'I lan away from Meddy when he tried to get me back. I'm soory Auntie Ez. I didn't mean to!'

Merry gaped.

'O Pippin,' his mother comforted. 'A fault confessed is half redressed. I'm proud that you had the courage to tell the truth. But it still won't un-break Auntie's book-end, I'm afraid. You can think good and long about what you did on the way home and by then I'll have thought of a fitting punishment for you.'

'Aunt Eg,' Merry said haltingly, as if he hadn't meant to speak at all.

'Yes, Merry?'

'You, you mustn't be so hard on 'im. He is a child, isn't he? Children break things left and right; I should have been watchin' him more carefully. I… please don't punish him needlessly, Aunt Eg. He-he's so small!'

'Why, Meriadoc. I never knew you cared so much for Pippin!'

'I don't!' he insisted and then reproached himself. 'Well… it's just that he's… I'm…'

Eglantine scolded, 'Now don't you be trying to take all the credit away from your cousin, Merry. Though I appreciate your concern.' She turned to face her son. 'And you, my little one, should count yourself lucky to have as gracious a cousin as your Merry.'

'My Meddy,' Pippin nodded in agreement as if the fact that he should be severely punished meant nothing to him as long as His Meddy was still his own to call.

* * *

Because much of the day had been spent trying to piece together (no pun intended) the incident at Brandy Hall, Eglantine and Pippin were obliged to stay the night and set out in the morning; a Took always made for a welcome guest in any Brandybuck household, and the hospitality of the Bucks is the subject of many long-winded accounts of praise amongst the Shire-folk.

Pippin's punishment was to take Merry's place in helping to wash the dishes after supper, not a small task by any means when a large meal and invited guests happened to be in company, but it was not too brutal in any case, and Pippin had soon redeemed himself with his Auntie Ez, who didn't think much of the book-end when in comparison to Pippin's excruciating charm. Merry repined over this for a short time, for if he had broken it he certainly wouldn't be pardoned as easily. But in the end he wondered if Pippin had been aware of how austere the consequences would have been for Merry and had decided to take the blame upon himself. If that were the matter, then Merry certainly held his young cousin in a different sense of esteem after that.

He managed to corner Pippin after he had finished carrying out his punishment, when the rest of the dinner party were beginning to gravitate toward the veranda to puff on their pipes and catch up on the day's gossip; Merry crouched down until he was almost eye-level with Pippin and whispered, 'What did y'do that for, Pippin? Why didn't you let me take the blame?'

The young hobbit shrugged like it meant nothing and smiled impishly. 'I yuv my Meddy,' he said, as if that made all the reason in the world.

Merry straightened and mulled for a few moments over the strange little creature grinning so cheerily up at him. None of it seemed to make sense: a boy so young already endowed with a sense of honesty and responsibility? Why then did he act like such a mindless fool until the time called for such virtues? It addled Merry endlessly until he finally had to give up and assume that it was all simply a part of Peregrin Took beyond all explanation and reason and was better off left unsaid anyway. It was still somewhat unsettling to dwell upon, and Merry wondered if perhaps the youngster were inherently queer from the beginning, which he supposed he was. All Tooks were queer in their ways, probably more so than the Bucks (although both were equally well-noted for this characteristic by outside folk). I myself can't even imagine what the ordinary gentry thought of Merry Brandybuck, being that he is both a Took and a Buck with even a bit of Baggins mixed in for measure; but I can quite assure you it must be incredible, for good or worse might best be decided by others in time soon enough.

**To Be Continued in the Next Installment:** _An Unwilling Mentor_


	2. An Unwilling Mentor

**An Unwilling Mentor **

**By:** H.J. Bender

**Completed:** 3/28/2004

**Synopsis:** O agony! Can it be true that Merry is assigned to help bring up the one cousin he can barely stand?

**Foreword:** Change of chaptering; I decided to break up the giant chapter this would have been into two separate ones. So here is the first of that tremendous split, _An Unwilling Mentor_. All characters belong to Tolkien.

* * *

_"Patience: a minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue."_ - Ambrose Bierce

* * *

The incident of the untimely death of Esmeralda's book-end as performed by one five year-old Peregrin Took (now six years old as he had just celebrated his birthday the month earlier) was beginning to fade from Meriadoc's collection of unpleasant memories, though not for long I am afraid--shortly thereafter Pippin became an almost regular guest at Brandy Hall, much to Merry's chagrin. He wished that at least Aunt Eglantine would bring over one of Pippin's sisters instead, even though they often teased Merry terribly and Pearl, the eldest sister, was inclined to torment him for her own amusement; he still felt himself better off than having an annoying scab of a relative following him around all day like a stray dog.

Pippin's little face would light up like a candle when ever Merry came about, and he would run gleefully to his side chirping, 'My Meddy! My Meddy!' and firmly attach himself to his cousin's nearest limb. Merry endured Pippin's curious adoration with waning patience. Nobody ever seemed to figure out just precisely why young Pippin was so enamoured of his cousin, especially when it was obvious that Merry did everything in his power to avoid the annoying youngster (whom he had dubbed The Nit).

Pippin wasn't really all that obnoxious if looked at from a view other than Merry's; he simply chattered and gibbered and sang in his strange little ways that young children do, skipping about and getting into everything and making a mess, asking silly questions and playing with things he ought not to be playing with until everyone around him was either mad or exhausted or ready to flay him alive. And since most of these activities were directed towards Merry he had every reason on Middle Earth to go absolutely berserk when he heard the clickety-clack of rumbling waggon wheels coming down the road.

This being so, he often sought refuge from Hurricane Pippin at his cousin Frodo Baggins' home at Bag End near Hobbiton (when he was allowed to, that is; Merry's mother fretted her son travelling alone). Frodo was always cheerful and willing to lend a friendly ear when the young Buck seemed to be at his wit's end, and Merry was fond of him for this reason. It didn't matter that Frodo was a quite bit older than he and beyond his days of romping and adventures--Merry in his childhood had in fact accompanied Frodo on many a mischief-making, and he boasted in fun that he had learnt the craft from the Shire's finest. Frodo only laughed at this flattery and was reminded of how he occasionally yearned for his childhood days living in Buckland.

So since his chief play-mate now grown up and moved away, Merry was perpetually on a sharp lookout for any potential candidate to make his solo party a duo; his piquant for reckless mayhem and wild games, however, attributed to many contestants' unwillingness to risk their necks (and sometimes their lives) for a good thrill. Merry himself lived for precisely that thrill however bitty or frivolous it was, yet still Frodo's empty place by his side remained sadly unoccupied.

* * *

On days when Merry could not flee to Bag End, Pippin automatically became his responsibility for looking-after, and since this was the case, Merimas and the other lads were reluctant to include him in any games as he was forced to bring his cousin along with him where ever he went; Esmeralda warned her son not to do anything feckless and harebrained while with the other boys or else he'd get it. Merry's temper gradually worsened, for Pippin slowed him down: he dawdled and his legs were shorter, and his curiosity often led him wandering off out of sight. All of Merry's friends soon learned to play without him whenever they saw their friend with the young Took in tow or politely moved their games elsewhere to spare themselves the everlasting volley of quarrels shooting back and forth between the two.

Merry did everything in his power to rid himself of Pippin's presence. He once even tried to scare him away by acting like a ghoul (to no avail). He mussed up his hair and buttoned his shirt all wrong and loped about like a troll out of one of Bilbo's tales but still the little Took stuck to him as fast as glue. Merry was ultimately forced to ask Pippin, 'Don't I frighten you?'

'Of course not,' Pippin laughed gaily. 'You're my Meddy!'

'Has nobody told you?'

'Tode me what?'

Merry chuckled, 'That I am not "your Meddy". My name is Beriadoc, and I'm Merry's evil twin brother.'

'No you're not! You're teasin' me,' said Pippin.

'Why would I tease you?'

'To get rid of me.'

'Ah, that's what _Merry_ would want, wouldn't he? I don't want to get rid of you, my sweet thing. Come closer and I will tell why…'

Pippin now looked truly afraid but nevertheless inched forward.

Merry grinned fiendishly and said, 'When Merry and I were born everyone knew that I was evil, and so they kept me locked alone in the cellar deep down in Brandy Hall and threw down the scraps for me. Nobody talks about me, specially mother and father. They don't want folks to know about their terrible son. For you see, I'm a cannibal.'

'What's a cannibal?' Pippin asked.

'A cannibal is someone who eats others instead of regular food. I eat hobbits, especially cute little children. Their meat is so much more tender and sweet than tough old folks'. I'm quite famished from being locked up. How old are you? Five? Six?'

'I turned six last month,' he stammered.

'Six, eh? That's good roastin' age. Not much meat but it certainly tastes-'

Pippin screamed at the top of his lungs and ran in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could bear him. When his cries had faded off into the distance Merry bent over and slapped his knees as he loudly laughed, and wondered why he had not thought of that sooner. It was all very brilliant until Merry's mother came stomping into the yard with Pippin holding onto her skirts and demanded to know what all of this Beriadoc nonsense was about.

Merry was practically sweating molten lead as he stammered, 'Why Mum! Don't you remember your other son Berry? Don't you? Yes?'

But his mother was not amused by her son's antics of frightening the life out of his poor little cousin, and gave him extra chores for his deeds. Merry eventually gave up trying to push Pippin away, and needless to say many of his lovely sunny week-ends were spent child-sitting at Brandy Hall with the Spawn of Doom. Even though he had seen Pippin's virtue shine through on one occasion it still was surpassed twofold by his annoyances, and he began to entertain thoughts of running away from home a little too often to be considered healthy. He prayed that soon these weekly visits from Tuckborough would cease altogether and everything would go back to normal the way it should be.

But one afternoon in mid-May all of Merry's hopes and wishes were soundly dashed.

It was Friday -the day that Merry dreaded most- when his father called him into his study for to discuss something important with him, and the Master of Buckland was oftentimes too busy with other matters during the week-days, and this made Merry quite uneasy; what ever his father wished to talk to him about must be crucially imperative for him to actually schedule an appointment, so thought Merry.

* * *

Saradoc Brandybuck was a jovial and kind-hearted hobbit if a little absent-minded at times and known to talk folks from one farthing to the next; when he started a conversation it was not over until he decided it was over, and that was that. Therefore Merry had made no plans to play with his friends for the next three hours or so (and this irritated him to no end for it was the last day of his freedom ere being saddled with Pippin for the next two days).

Merry was warmly received by his father -bustling about as usual, I might add- and was told to take a seat before the broad writing-desk. When at last Saradoc had finished sorting through a few leafs of parchment and stuffing them into a thick-spined book, he sat heavily down at his desk and began:

'So good of you to come, Meriadoc. Dreadfully sorry I've not been able to see you much this week but with summer on the way there's much to be done in the ways of cataloguing gardening equipment and making sure that the Ferry's in working order-'

'I understand, Dad.'

'-of course you do! Bright lad you are--I keep telling your mother if I didn't expect you to become Master you'd do right to become a scholarly sort of hobbit, perhaps a writer or encyclopaedist like Mr. Bilbo, or a doctor of-'

'You wished to speak to me about something, Dad?'

'Eh? Right! Yes! Of course! Silly me. I almost forgot all about that. Well now, let's see. What did I do with that letter? I knew I put it- ah! Here it is.' Saradoc produced a folded letter from his desk drawer and re-read it once more to himself before regarding his son, sitting quietly. 'This is a message from your Aunt Eglantine, writing on behalf of her son Pippin.'

Merry's heart quivered.

'From what she tells me, Pippin's quite become the terror of Tookland.'

'I can't imagine why.'

'Precisely! Here's a sample of what Eg has written: _"…for when he's at Brandy Hall he is a completely different hobbit. Once at home he becomes sulky and disagreeable (more than to be expected of a child his age) and won't to respond to any sort of punishment. I would not have bothered to write if this were not direly distressing on the whole family; I was certain that Pippin had passed the age of being a screaming tyrant a few years ago but now it seems that he has become stuck in a loop_." On and on, ramble yammer, "_refuses to listen to his tutors_" and so forth, "_complains constantly, keeps inquiring as to when he's going back to the Hall_", prattling on, "_won't play with the other children_"-'

'Or vice versa,' said Merry.

'Yes, quite. You get the idea by now, I'm sure.'

'That he's a monstrous brat?'

'To some at least.'

Merry smiled triumphantly. Maybe now they'd lock him up and throw away the key, and he'd never have to set eyes on him again. It was almost too good to be true, and that's when it hit him. It simply _was_ too good to be true. 'Why was I called here then?' he asked reluctantly.

'Well, your Aunt Eg and I have been discussing this matter for several weeks now, at least when I can spare the time during the week-ends, and have taken into account all considerations as to what could be done to bring this poor lad up properly, and we think we've finally reached a decision.'

Merry -who was never particularly noted for his virtues in patience- waited in silence for a few moments before he prodded, 'Yes?'

'Yes? Yes! Well, that's sport of you, Meriadoc. I'm glad you've agreed to take on the responsibility but there's much yet still to be done before-'

'Responsibility! for what?' he said.

'Why, for mentoring young Master Peregrin, of course.'

'What!' squawked Merry, who felt his entire world drop out from beneath his chair. 'Mentorin'! I never agreed to mentor that little-'

'Tut tut, young scamp. You've no little brothers to look after and Peregrin can't go round being brought up by his sisters anyway; he'll be wearing petticoats and ribbons in his hair before long and he needs a positive role model to look up to; and don't you roll your eyes at me that way--I know as well as you that you're not the best representation of a well-behaved lad but this should do good to notch you down a bit, my boy.'

'Notch me down!? Why can't Merimas look after 'im? Or Everard or Fredegar? Why should I be stuck with 'im?'

'Peregrin seems to be quite infatuated with you and would listen to you sooner than he would listen to any of the other hobbit boys. I suppose he sees something in you that he finds somehow appealing, mercy only knows what that may be.'

'Infatu-! Peregr-! Appea-!' Merry couldn't quite seem to speak in whole phrases at this point as he went from stunned to angered to grieving in less than a minute. 'You can't do this to me, Dad! You simply can't! I-I'll go mad! I-! I-!'

'Gracious, Meriadoc! Get an hold of yourself for goodness' sake. We're only asking that you mentor the boy, not marry him.'

'That's a mercy; I'd rather kill myself instead.'

'Now stopper that attitude this moment, you cheeky rascal. Poor Peregrin hasn't any brothers and right now you're the closest he's ever going to come to having one, so stop being selfish and think of someone other than yourself for a few moments, would you?'

Merry shut his lips tight and narrowed his eyes to keep a dam of angry tears from being spilt. He kept his chin up and mumbled, 'Yes, sir.'

'Very well then. Paladin shall be bringing him to Brandy Hall this week-end and I shall expect for you to have turned your disposition around by then. Is that clear, Meriadoc?'

'Yes, Dad.'

'That's my boy.' Saradoc smiled warmly at his only son. 'Off with you now.'

* * *

As soon as Merry was out-of-doors and quite certain he was alone, he clenched his fists and cursed: 'Fie! Hell! Blood n' piss! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!' and proceeded to flatten the earth upon which he stood without making a sound, thus looking as if his coat had caught a spark and was alight or he had a hornet in his shirt and was dancing about insanely as it stung him. In any case he looked nought short of ridiculous.

Once his rage had subsided, tears of misery were pouring forth from his eyes, and he ran off to find someplace secluded where he could cry in peace.

Life could be so wretchedly unfair.

**To Be Continued in the Next Installment:** _Stay Near & Never Fear_


	3. Stay Near & Never Fear

**Stay Near & Never Fear**

**By:** H.J. Bender

**Completed:** 4/17/2004

**Synopsis:** It's always darkest before the dawn, as both Merry and Pippin discover as they struggle to find a common ground between each other.

**Foreword:** I fear that I might be drawing this out a bit thickly; hope no one minds. Everything belongs to Tolkien save this fic and the song therein, which is mine, naturally.

* * *

_"Forget injuries; never forget kindnesses."_ -Confucius

* * *

Mentoring was a common practise among the wealthier hobbit families and was almost considered a tradition; mentors were decided by and between the parents of the youngsters and there was little to be done about it once a match had been made. Hobbit-girls were usually mentored in small groups of three or four where an older female -usually a married one- taught them to sew and to cook and various other useful crafts. Hobbit-boys were paired one per mentor and were educated in matters not discussed in basic schooling, activities such as learning directions by the stars, social etiquette, how to drive a waggon and saddle a pony, all the routes and roads and shortcuts in the Shire, and knowledge of surrounding flora and fauna. Very young hobbits in particular were taught their letters and how to hold a writing stick before they enrolled in school, where and if available.

However, mentoring was different if you happened to be the son of the Thain or the son of the Master of Buckland; Merry himself had been instructed by Frodo -before he moved to Bag End- and then Sonny Bolger for the remainder. Three to four years was the usual length necessary, although some individuals kept mentoring for as long as eight years depending upon location and upbringing.

The pairing of Merry to Pippin was a queer one as they each lived on different ends of the Shire, and Merry was perhaps a mite young to be a mentor. It wasn't that he was daft or foolish by nature; rather he was quite bright and collected (at least when not around his cousin) but the decision had been made and set, and there was nothing at all that Merry could do about it now.

And so, with his fate set before him like a steaming bowl of Aunt Hilda's gruesome bean stew, Merry awaited the week-end with dread in his heart and one foot in the door of his escape.

* * *

Merry had just finished his mid-morning tea and was preparing to make himself scarce when that familiar sound of waggon wheels and pony hooves set him into his customary attack of Saturday morning hysteria, and before he could sneak out the back way through the kitchen, there came little Pippin running into the Hall -curls bouncing and unbuttoned vest flapping behind him- and interrupted Merry's escape.

'Meddy!' he cried with delight glowing in his face as he planted himself at his cousin's side. 'Is it true that I'm stayin' with you for the summer?'

'I'm afraid it is,' Merry answered anemically.

'Hooraaaay!' came the cheer. 'We can play all day together and build forts and make believe we're kings and-!'

'I'm mentorin' you, you know.'

Pippin looked astonished as his jaw dropped open. 'What's that?' he asked.

'It's where I get to beat you every single day with an enormous paddle made out of solid stone and-'

'Meriadoc!' Esmeralda, being the ever-present mother that she was, thrust her head into the kitchen warningly. 'If I hear you teasing your cousin like that again I most certainly will paddle _you_!'

'Yes, Mum. Sorry.'

'What's mentorin' mean?' asked Pippin again.

'It means I teach you,' said Merry. 'things like manners and farm work and all sorts of boring, tedious things. Sounds awful, doesn't it?'

Pippin shook his head and threw his arms about his cousin. 'It sounds spyendid!'

'Mercy spare me,' uttered Merry under his breath while Pippin wrapped himself around his left arm and hung from it as if it were a branch.

Presently, Aunt Eg and Uncle Pal entered the Hall and Esmeralda appeared to welcome them. They greeted Merry, passing around many embraces to both him and his mother ere Saradoc came bustling in and received his brother-in-law jovially, and for a time Merry was left to stand about while he waited for the commotion to settle. Shortly, Uncle Pal strode up to him and clapped a sturdy hand upon his shoulder as he said, 'Well well well, Meriadoc, my dearest nephew! How can I ever thank you enough for mentoring my boy?'

The young Buck smiled as if he were politely swallowing down the vomit in the back of his throat. 'You can't.'

'Ho ho! You certainly are a jester, young sir! You know, I was actually surprised to hear that you agreed to it; not many lads your age are eager to take children under their wings.'

'Hmm, "agreed",' mused Merry. 'That's such a funny way of putting it.'

Paladin laughed richly, and struck a hearty pat to Merry's back that nearly knocked him off his feet (for Paladin was quite impressively large and muscular as far as hobbits were concerned). 'You Bucklanders!' he exclaimed. 'How I adore the lot of you!' And he continued to blow hot air and deliver companionable slaps to Merry's shoulders until the lad feared himself to be driven through the floorboards like a nail; but then Eglantine pulled him from Paladin's good-natured -if hazardous- reach and allowed him to recover.

She looked down at her son still hanging from her nephew's arm and said, 'Pippin has been looking forward to seeing you all day. I didn't think we'd arrive here soon enough—he's been practically bursting with excitement since we told him!'

_'At least that makes one of us,'_ thought Merry. 'Just being of service, Auntie,' he lied modestly. 'I just hope I can do my best.'

'Merry, dear, you _are_ the best,' she said and kissed Merry's forehead, which suddenly made things somehow better than they had been all morning. Then the four adults moved their party into the adjoining room and Merry was left alone in the kitchen with The Nit still clinging to him.

He looked down at the eager, shining eyes of the youngster and said, 'Well then. I suppose I ought to show you round first, shouldn't I?'

Pippin grinned and nodded.

* * *

After Uncle Pal and Aunt Eg had departed, Merry decided to familiarise his cousin to his new surroundings, starting with a tour of the Hall; he walked him down the main corridor which ran through the centre of the establishment, and showed Pippin the children's room where all the youngsters gathered to play, and the spacious living room and parlor, and the kitchens, and the dining room which opened out at the very end of the Main Hall into a broad, round room with high ceilings and a massive fireplace at the far end. Two oblong tables sat parallel to one another in the centre of the room, and Merry told him of how every seat would be filled come dinner time, and of how cosy it was in winter when the fire was crackling and all of the festivities of Yule were underway. It seemed rather dark and large for Pippin, who was more accustomed to the open skies and bright rooms of his home at Great Smials.

A door was located on either side of the fireplace; the one on the left led to the storage rooms and cellars, Merry explained, and the one on the right led to a corridor still under construction—it was to be a hall for bedrooms to accommodate the ever-growing populace of Brandy Hall.

The dining room was connected by two corridors: the Master's Hall on one side where were located Saradoc's study and bedroom, and the Second Hall on the other side, which held rooms such as the nursery and suites for the married residents who had young children to look after, and a few linen closets. At the end of the Second Hall was a foyer and one of the three round front doors of Brandy Hall; a smaller corridor branched to the left, and Merry said that this was where most of the bedrooms were, including his own, and a few guest rooms. At the very end of the curving hall were the baths and laundry-rooms, a convenient location as most of the occupants of that particular wing were either Merry's age or a few years older, and notorious for creating great mountains of dirty clothes.

While making their way down back down the corridor they chanced upon Merry's cousin Berilac, a resident of the Hall and quite certainly the spitting image of his Fallohide ancestors; Beri was already an whole head taller than Merry -though only two years his seniour- and his hair was only a few scant shades away from pure golden. For this reason (and his extremely good-looks) Merry oftentimes found himself quite envious of Beri, though his cousin tended to be soft-spoken and quite eccentric in his hobbies and interests. Nevertheless, the two were on friendly terms with one another, and Merry greeted, 'Hoi, Beri! What's the good word?'

Berilac smiled gently -this would be enough to make even the haughtiest girl swoon herself sick- and replied, 'Nothing fantastic. Seredic and Dad are over in Stock today and Hilda needs help watching the children.'

'All three?'

'I'm afraid so,' sighed Beri, who suddenly noticed Pippin standing there with his mouth open in awe and his neck craned back as if staring at the top of a tall tree. 'O, hullo there. And who might you be?'

Pippin's eyes bulged as he cried, 'Y-you're so tall!'

The fair-haired Brandybuck laughed lightly, and Merry reproached Pippin: 'Don't point out peoples' personal characteristics—it's rude. I'm sorry, Beri. This is Pippin Took, my cousin and student. You'll have to excuse him,' Merry shot a dirty look at the lad. 'He forgot his manners.'

'I-I'm soory,' said Pippin. 'Good day to you, my name is Pippin, how do you do?'

'Good day, I'm Berilac. I'm fine, thank you,' said Beri as he humoured the crestfallen young hobbit. 'And don't worry, Pip. I'm sure Merry will do a good job of teaching you everything there is to know about manners, won't you, Merry?'

Merry sighed heavily. 'I'll try.'

Beri laughed once again and leant down to ruffle Pippin's curls affectionately before he was off and away.

'I like him,' said Pippin once he and Merry were alone. 'He's nice.'

'Yes, yes, everyone else thinks as much,' said Merry. 'The whole Shire loves Berilac. Now come along—there's still much to be seen.'

Merry showed Pippin all of the door-ways to the outside and where they led, and told him that if ever he was out after dark for any reason to make certain that he locked the door behind him when he came back. Pippin thought this altogether unusual, and Merry explained to him that since Buckland was practically upon the border of the Shire and right up against the Old Forest that people had to be extra careful of strangers and other unwanted visitors. Then he told Pippin the story of when the High Hay was planted, a vast and thick row of hedges that acted as a barrier of sorts between the forest and Buckland, and of the ancient lore of the trees coming alive, and the year of the Fell Winter when wolves came into the Shire and the Brandywine River froze solid as a stone.

Pippin was both enraptured and frightened by Merry's terrific stories, which he recited so articulately and so poetically that it almost seemed to come from the pages of a thick book of grand, heart-pounding adventures that long ago he had memorised. And for ever since then -with the exception of Bilbo- Pippin thought of his cousin and the bestest story-teller in all the Shire.

* * *

Once they had concluded the survey of the Hall and taken lunch during their last round through the main kitchen, Merry -who wasn't quite so cross now- led Pippin out-of-doors and showed him about the grounds of what would be called in later years his second home. Merry had to keep a close watch on his cousin, lest he become distracted by picking flowers in the gardens or chasing bumble-bees and wander off. Merry considered the possibility of tying a long leash on him but he doubted that neither his mother nor Pippin's mother would approve.

Buckland was a wonderful place to be in May, especially if you happened to be there in the morning and awake early enough to see the spectacular sight it made: the sun would rise from behind the climbing, tree-speckled hills and warm the earth with its scarlet and gold blanket of light. Brandy Hall was excavated out of the lowest of these hills and its front windows faced the Brandywine, so when the sun rose high enough above the tallest hill and struck the surface of the river, it was like the glittering of a hundred thousand jewels, and it would shine through the windows and dance upon ceilings and walls like playful faeries to rouse the inhabitants. Different birds of the forest would all begin to sing at one time, creating a delicate symphony of flutes and bells, seemingly.

Brandy Hall itself was immense and yet cosy to those who lived there, primarily the immediate family of the Master (who was also the chief of that whole thickly-populated area east of the river). It was dug deep into the hillside and extended widely in its length, and some said that the roots of the hill itself told just how large the Hall's foundation was; hundreds of round little windows it had, curving all along the foot of the slope like stitches about a winding hem. It was so wide in fact that it had three front doors (two green ones on either side of a large yellow one) and various smaller doors leading out to footpaths and well-tended gardens, and this was how it came to be known as the Hall, due to its network of corridors branching off from a single broad hall in the very centre.

The land at the base of Buck Hill stretched flat for a distance before it became more hilly as it approached the river, and it was densely peppered with clusters of willows, magnolias, oaks, maples, beeches and a rich variety of other hardwoods that grew almost to the grassy banks of the river, providing shade to those Bucklanders who were fond of fishing and boating, a practise thought altogether queer and unnatural by the Shire hobbits, who feared water. The Hall was only a short distance from the river and right across from the Ferry, and there was a lovely walking-path that ran alongside the water from the Brandywine Bridge, past Standelf and all the way down to Deephallow on the opposite bank of the river. You could often catch folks promenading on lazy summer evenings when the water murmured and the crickets chirruped and all the world seemed to be at peace. For this reason (and many others, I am certain) folks considered Buckland to be the most wonderful place in all the Shire, even being as close to the Old Forest as it was.

By and by, Merry and Pippin made their way down the sun-dappled road that passed from the Hall to Bucklebury Ferry, while Merry took time to explain everything one could possibly want to know about Buckland and its folk and the prominent families of Eastfarthing: the Bolgers and Boffins and Burrowses and Maggots and Haywards and the various Smiths. Pippin, honestly interested and doing his best to take all this information in as wholly as he could, troubled his cousin with questions of only the basic sort; the two of them were quite beginning to get to the point where they could talk straight for a long while without bickering or name-calling, when from up the road came walking Ginny Boffin and her friend Estella Bolger.

If there was anything under the sun that made Merry clam up more than a girl, it was a pretty girl—and when faced with _two_ pretty girls, it was almost enough to render him to a catatonic state. Pippin, who had ducked shyly behind Merry, was fortunate enough to witness first-hand the total decomposition of his older cousin's suave superiourity as he became nought more than a fumbling, bumbling, stuttering, mumbling dunce.

'Why, if it isn't Meriadoc himself!' laughed Ginny as she and Estella approached. 'What brings you out here all alone? Where's Folco and Fredegar?'

Merry became keenly engrossed in the study of his feet as he shrugged and replied, 'Off somewhere—I don't know.'

Pippin, not quick to forget a lesson, peered out from behind Merry's legs and piped up quite cheerfully, 'You haf to excuse Meddy; he forgets his manners around pletty girls.'

The young Buck became the very definition of red as the girls laughed, and he broke into a fierce sweat.

'What he meant to say was "good afternoon yadies and how do you do". Isn't that right, Meddy?'

Merry turned and glared at his cousin, sputtering between clenched teeth, 'Shut up, Nit! No one asked for you to talk!'

'Now, Merry,' scolded Estella as if she were really older than he. 'that's no way to talk to this little darling.' She drew up her skirts and crouched down to Pippin's height. 'And who might you be, dear-heart?'

He hooked a finger in his mouth and retreated back behind Merry. 'Pippin Took,' he said softly. 'Who are you?

'My name's Estella, and this is my friend Ginny. I thought you might be a Took; you and your sisters all have the same colour hair.'

'Is he staying over with your family or something?' Ginny asked Merry, who was doing a rather worthy impression of a tree.

'For the summer,' he mumbled. 'I'm mentorin' him.'

'Mentoring! How sweet,' said Estella as she tweaked Pippin's cheek. 'I'd count myself lucky to mentor an adorable little thing like you.'

Pippin looked up at Merry smugly and said, 'She thinks I'm _adolable_.' And he batted his eyes while Merry ground his teeth together.

Ginny smiled coyly and said, 'It looks like you're going to have quite some competition when this little sprout reaches his tweens.'

'It will be fortunate if he reaches his tweens,' muttered Merry. 'In fact, it will be a miracle if he survives this summer.' He took Pippin by the hand and stalked down the road. 'We must be off now, I'm afraid! Good day to you both!'

'Good-bye, Esteya!' called Pippin with a smile. 'And doan't worry—I'm sure Meddy thinks you're pletty, too!'

'PEREGRIN!' shouted Merry, and pulled the annoying youngster along until they were out of hearing-range of the girls' laughter, where he then released Pippin from his grasp and stormed onward. 'Why'd you have to embarrass me in front of them?' he demanded, almost to himself since Pippin was forced to scurry in order to keep up with his cousin's long strides.

'What's to be emballassed about?' he asked innocuously.

'They're girls, of course! Now they're goin' to tease me until I die, no thanks to _you_, you little brat.'

'What's wrong with girls?'

'Girls? They're evil, that's what's wrong with them. Take my advice—never have anything to do with girls. Now come along, we've still got the Marish and everything west of the river to go over, so pick up your feet!'

'You walk too fast, Meddy!' panted Pippin as he trotted briskly. 'M' yegs are yittler than yours.'

'Grow them longer.'

'I can't!'

Merry shrugged indifferently. 'It's not my problem, then—it's yours.'

'Meddy!' cried Pippin. 'Meddy, I know you don't yike me too much but- but can't you slow doon a bit! Please!'

Merry sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, stopping in his path to wait for the lad to catch up before they started off again; this time Merry walked more slowly. Presently they reached a broad wooden dock constructed on the banks of the river with a large flat ferry-boat moored out beside it, and this was the Bucklebury Ferry. It was used mainly by the people of the Marish, such as the Maggots and the folk of Rushey, and occasionally the odd traveller here and there who wanted to save themselves the extra eight or so miles of walking up the river to cross at the bridge.

Merry hopped onto the ferry easily and gathered up the rope moorings. 'We'll have to be brief about this since it's getting a bit late and Mum is going to start fretting for us being gone so long, but I think you'll be quite interested in the Maggots' orchards since he-'

Merry stopped short when he realised he was alone. He looked back over his shoulder to see Pippin standing apprehensively on the road with his fingers knotted in worry. 'What?' he asked. 'What's the matter?'

Pippin shook his head and took a step back.

'Come on, then. What is it?'

'I doan't want to go ofer the riffer.'

'Why not? What's wrong with it?'

'The water's too deep.'

'It _is_ a river, Pippin,' said Merry matter-of-factly, 'and rivers usually have deep water in them. We're not going for a swim, anyway. Now, don't be such a baby and come over here.'

'I can't!' wheedled the Took. 'And you shouldn't, neither. You'll fall into the water and get drownded and then-! I'll be sad! And evlyone will miss you and cry!'

The steaming kettle that was Merry's patience decided to boil over at that moment, and he drew a breath and snapped, 'What is it that you _want_ from me, Pippin? Why do you insist upon following my every step? Why am I mentorin' you! you of all hobbits! And me! Why!' He threw back his head and shouted as loud as he could, 'Why am I being punished!'

This proved to be too much for little Pippin's delicate emotional constitution, and he started to cry. He stood there in the middle of the path, a heartbroken child, with tears streaming down his flushed red cheeks like tiny waterfalls and his small shoulders shaking from his sobs, fists clenched at his sides.

'You're going to cry? You're crying?' Merry said. 'Well, _fine_, I say! You can cry on _this_ side of the river because I'm going over to _that_ side!' He pointed to the opposite bank as he untied the boat from its moorings and grasped the long pole, giving a stout shove. The ferry began to drift from the east bank and Merry turned to wave his good-bye. 'So long, Peregrin,' he called. 'O Nit who doth annoy me so! Looks like I'm goin' to get drownded without you! What a pity!'

It was in that moment when the ferry was drawing further and further from the bank that Pippin made up his mind; he took a running start -as fast as he possibly could- and when his feet reached the edge of the bank, he jumped. Merry's mouth fell open as he saw his cousin come flying through the air, and his only thought was, _'He's not going to make it. It was too far a jump!'_

Pippin landed half-on and half-off of the platform, scuffing both his shins upon the sharp wooden edge, scraping his chin upon the rough boards, and knocking the breath from his lungs. Merry threw himself down upon the planks and dragged Pippin aboard; the lad's left knee was bleeding terribly, and there were flecks and pieces of woody splinters to be seen within the jagged shreds of skin. Merry sat back on his legs and quickly pulled an handkerchief from his vest just as Pippin began to weep and shudder from his frightful ordeal; he leant over the ferry and soaked the kerchief in the river, wrung it out, and placed it upon the wound.

'Sh, sh,' he admonished Pippin. 'Lads aren't supposed to cry, so swallow it down. There you go. Nothin' to cry about.' He glanced up for a moment to see Pippin wiping the tears from his eyes and a wave of guilt hit Merry's conscience, for felt suddenly responsible for all of this: Pippin's injuries, his tears, the whole of it. 'You shouldn't have jumped,' he said softly as he tended to the scrape. 'You could have fallen in the river, and then I would have had to jump in after you, and then we would have both been drenched and who else knows—we might have both drownded.'

'At least you wouldn't have drownded alwone,' came the meek reply.

Merry knotted the kerchief tightly about Pippin's knee, who winced momentarily and bit his lower lip to keep from crying.

'This'll have to do until we can get you up to Crickhollow and let Milo have a look at it,' said Merry. 'We'll have to get those splinters out, too. Do yourself a favour next time and don't jump.'

Pippin scowled and said, 'Next time you shouldn't try to leave me behind. Then mebbe I woan't jump.'

Merry looked momentarily surprised. 'I didn't make you jump, Pippin. You could have stayed over there on the shore and been safe, and you wouldn't be all scratched and bleedin' now.'

'Aunt Ez says you're s'posed to look after me,' argued the Took, 'and I go where ever you go, Meddy, even if it's some place I'm aflaid of. No matter what.'

Merry was silent for a long while before he finally shook his head in wonder and sighed. 'You are a strange little sod, Peregrin Took,' he said, 'and I don't even think I want to know why you'd fly towards your greatest fear and bash yourself all up because of me.'

Pippin smiled, his anger subsiding like thunderclouds before a breaking sunrise. 'Tha's easy; I yuv my Meddy.'

'But why?' Merry demanded. 'Why do you so love me?'

Pippin shrugged. 'Why not?'

And Merry could not, for the life of him, think of anything to say.

* * *

Merry's first-cousin Milo Burrows (once removed on his father's side) lived just up the road between Crickhollow and Brandy Hall, and was something of a local healer as far as the folk east of the river were concerned; when ever a situation occurred that required immediate attention -such as burns or cuts or broken limbs- and Doc Bumbalow over in Frogmorton couldn't be reached in time, people would appear at the Burrowses home with their ailments and Ol' Milo would fix them up as good as new.

Merry was and still is a frequent guest at Milo's due to his reckless adventures that often spelt out bruises and blood, despite his mother's scolding that one day he was going to adventure himself to death. Thus he was greeted with the customary, 'Ah, good day, Merry! Back again so soon?' from Milo before the older hobbit noticed that Merry had brought some company. 'Well now, who's your friend? Pardon my manners, sirs. Come in and make yourselves at home.'

'He's my cousin, actually,' explained Merry as he led him into Milo's large kitchen, which doubled also as the infirmary. 'Pippin Took is his name. I'm mentorin' him over the summer.'

'Ah, I see, I see.'

'We had an accident at the Ferry and Pippin injured his knee. He's got quite a few splinters in it, too.'

'My chin got scratched up also,' murmured Pippin shyly.

Milo crouched down and surveyed the damage, removing the handkerchief and nodding to himself. 'Quite a large scrape for a small lad,' he said with a kind smile, 'but it looks amendable. I'll have you right as rain in a few moments. You just sit down over there while I go find my forceps and get out those splinters…'

Pippin did better than Merry thought he would when Milo started plucking the needles of wood from his knee; he bit his lip and held on to Merry's sleeve tightly until it was all over, and hardly made a sound. Then Milo rinsed off the wound and applied a sticky poultice to ward off infection, bound it in a light bandage and tended to the scratches here and there. And ere long Pippin was indeed right as rain and in much better spirits.

The two young hobbits thanked Milo kindly and returned to Brandy Hall just as the sky was beginning to glow orange and red from the sun sinking into the west. Esmeralda raised a fuss when she saw the bandages and scrapes but accepted their excuse that it was merely an accident that was bound to happen sooner or later; she was thankful that at least they had the sense to visit Milo and see to things properly, and warned them yet again to stay out of trouble. Merry was grateful that Pippin kept the whole matter concerning the Ferry a secret, otherwise he would have found himself in trouble again (as if being in trouble were not already his accustomed position in any situation).

* * *

Tired, sore and hungry from their escapades, Merry and Pippin couldn't eat their suppers fast enough and retreat to the baths for a nice hot soak. Pippin didn't seem to speak much, no doubt the flames of his energy dying down a bit after his first big day in Buckland. Afterwards, Merry returned to his room and Pippin to his (which was just a little ways down the hall from Merry's room on the opposite side); Esmeralda had unpacked all of her nephew's clothes and things and placed fresh sheets on his bed, and things were, for the most part, going in the direction of a night of pleasant dreams… until, of course, Pippin decided that he couldn't sleep.

Merry was comfortably nestled down into his large, fluffy bed when he heard a voice calling from down the hall, 'Meddeeeee… Meddeeeeee! Meddy, I need you! Meddeeeee…'

Merry shoved a pillow over his head and tried to ignore the calls but he couldn't breathe too well that way, and besides, the calls were getting louder and soon Pippin would wake up everybody, and then Merry would get yelled at for not getting out of bed to see what the matter was; so with a curse and a grumble Merry dragged himself from the peace and comfort of his warm bed and stomped down the hall and into Pippin's room, where he found the young Took to be nought more than a trembling lump underneath the covers of his bed.

With a sigh, Merry drew a stool from the small writing-table and positioned it at the bed-side, yawning sleepily as he propped one elbow on the mattress and rested his chin in his hand.

'Meddy?' came a frightened whisper.

'Yes.'

'Meddy.'

'What.'

Pippin's head appeared from underneath the covers, eyes large and face ashen. 'There's a bogey-monster under my bed.'

Merry blinked slowly and muttered, 'There's no such thing as bogey-monsters, Pippin.'

'Is too.'

'Is not.'

'Is too!'

'Fine. What does the bogey-monster look like then?'

Pippin floundered. 'It-it's got glowin' yeylow eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth, and it hisses and it's got claws…'

'Hm. Sounds like you've had too many visits to Bag End to me.'

'But I hafen't! It's goin' to ambush me in my sleep!'

'I almost hope it does; maybe then I'll be spared from your whining.'

'Meddeeeeeeee!' wailed Pippin.

'All right, all right! Pipe down your gob for land's sake! You want to wake everyone in the Hall?'

'No, Meddy. Just you.'

He couldn't tell if Pippin was being sarcastic or if he were telling the truth, but either way Merry decided that he would like to return to bed as soon as he could. So he silently went through his mental list of remedies for sleepless youngsters, discounting those that his mother might not approve of (such as a hard strike on the back of the head with a small log or a trip to the ale kegs down in the cellar) before he finally made up his mind.

'Right then,' Merry said. 'How's about I sing you a song, yeah? Would that help you to sleep?'

Pippin asked, 'What kind of song?'

'A night-a-bye song. My mum used to sing it to me when _I _was a little nit.'

The young Took smiled. 'You were a yittle nit too, Meddy?'

'Of course—how do you think I got to be such a louse?'

Pippin giggled and lay down in his bed, tucking the covers up about his chin. 'Sing me the night-a-bye song, Meddy.'

Merry smiled despite himself and nodded. 'All right then.' And he softly sang:

'_Night-a-bye, it's time for bed_

_Close your eyes and rest your head_

_And may your dreams be sweet when in_

_To Faerie Land you're led._

_So say good-night and close your eyes;_

_No tears shall fall under starry skies._

_Dreams will come, if they may-_

_In realms uncharted, you shall play_

_Where flowers grow and bluebirds sing_

_O such a sunny day._

_So say good-night and close your eyes;_

_No tears shall fall under starry skies._

_Until the starlight starts to fade_

_And the mist of dawn begins to shade_

_'Til sunshine kiss your eyes to blink_

_Sleep, precious, while you may._

_So say good-night and close your eyes;_

_No tears shall fall under starry skies.'_

There was a long silence thereafter, and Merry was just about to take his leave when Pippin said, 'That was a pletty song, Meddy. Sing it again, woan't you?'

'Why aren't you asleep? You're s'posed to be asleep!' he snapped.

'I couldn't sleep with you singin' to me. Mummy says it's rude to nod off when people are token to you.'

'Your mummy,' Merry sighed in defeat. 'what does your mummy do to get you to go to sleep?'

'She kisses me and tells me to go night-night.'

'Well then, go night-night, Pippin, for I shall eat mud before I kiss you. I'll see you in the morning-'

'I doan't want to go night-night.'

'Why not?' Merry's frustration was beginning to get the better of him. 'Every thing else is goin' night-night.'

'It is?'

'Yes. Every thing in Middle Earth goes night-night. Go on, look about the room. See the wash-basin? It's goin' night-night. And the chest in the corner—it's goin' night-night, also.'

'And do the curtains go night-night?'

'The curtains go night-night.'

'And the buttons on my coat go night-night?'

'The buttons go night-night,' sighed Merry.

'And the bogey-monsters go night-night?'

'There are no bogey-monsters, Pippin! I will crawl under your bed and show you myself if you'd-'

'No, Meddy! Doan't! They'll get you! They'll get you!' Pippin sat up and grabbed Merry's sleeve as if the mere thought of going under his bed would summon forth the monsters that dwelt there.

'Calm down, Nit! Let go of my shirt before you rip the arm clean off. There now. Nothing under your bed is goin' to get me.'

'How can you be sure?' quavered the little Took.

'Well, becos' bogey-monsters only eat the person who sleeps in the bed they're under; this isn't my bed, so they're not going to eat _me_-'

Pippin's face crumpled in agony and he began to keen so loudly that Merry had to clap his hand over his mouth and apologise a hundred times over and explain that he was only fooling; it still did nought to make Pippin any more eager to go to sleep, and at last Merry declared, 'All right, I give in. What ever you want me to do, say it now and I will gladly do it. I'm tired, tomorrow we begin your lessons, and I want to go to bed. Please, just- what ever you want.'

Pippin said nothing but removed himself to the other side of the bed and stared at his cousin imploringly.

'You're jokin', I hope.'

'Meddeee…'

'All right! All right! Confound you, Nit, you great, shivering, cowardly lump of pudding,' grumped Merry as he left his chair and crawled into the bed beside Pippin, who was positively glowing with glee. 'I hope this makes you happy,' he continued to grumble as he settled under the blankets. 'but if you kick me during the night I'm goin' to shove you clear out of this bed, hear me? Hey now! What do you think you're doin'? Don't be cuddlin' to me like that. I'm not a stuffed toy, you know. I can't breathe with you all hangin' about my neck and heating me up. You're like a small furnace! Give me some room, Nit. You don't need to be taking up both pillows.'

After a few brief tussles and tugging-fights over who would receive the fluffiest pillow, the two lads finally settled down: Merry lay upon his back with Pippin's head upon his shoulder, curled up against his side. He felt quite ridiculous, and hoped that he could rouse himself the next morning before anyone walked in and saw him being cosy and cute with Pippin—otherwise he'd never hear the end of it.

'So,' Merry cleared his throat and tried to adapt himself to the sensation of sharing a bed with another person. 'What makes you so restless at night, Pippin?'

'I'm aflaid,' came the small voice. 'I can't sleep alwone.'

'Do you always share a bed with someone?'

'I sleep with Finnie most of the time but she gets annoyed by me. Mummy says I'm too big to be crawlin' into her and Daddy's bed no more. I'm scared to be alwone.'

'Who's Finnie?' asked Merry.

'Perfinca.'

'Pervinca?'

'Perfinca.'

'Per-VIN-ca.'

'That's what I said.'

Merry sighed. 'We'll work on your pronunciation first thing in the morning.'

Pippin draped an arm across Merry's chest and gave him a happy squeeze. 'I'm glad I'm here with you.'

Merry said nothing after that. He stared through the darkness at the shadows upon the ceiling and thought of the little person next to him whom he had made happy. He had made someone _happy_, and he had done nought else save be there beside him. The thought that someone could be so comforted and consoled by his mere presence filled Merry with a sort of chivalrous pride; he imagined himself that he was the protector of innocents from bogey-monsters, a chaser-away of nightmares and fears and worries, a bold and courageous knight under whom was sought safety and peace by all of the meek little folk.

Merry's chest was made light suddenly, as if an unseen weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He knew then that he was happy. He was happy to have made someone happy, for he had never felt such a thing before; a big brother, a protector, a guardian, a mentor, a friend.

_If I should I like to be all of these things_, he thought. _Would you allow me?_ _Shall I be your strength, Pippin? Shall I be the shelter you seek when the shadows seem to close in about you? Shall I be all of this to you, and perhaps find a path between our discordant lives that we may walk together?_

And like that, the two young hobbits fell asleep.

**To Be Continued in the Next Installment:** _Lessons, Lectures & Life_


	4. Lessons, Lectures & Life

**Lessons, Lectures & Life**

**By:** H.J. Bender

**Completed: **5/31/2004

**Synopsis:** Merry has an epiphany that causes him to do some much-needed growing up, and Pippin finds himself a home in his elder cousin's heart.

**Foreword:** Thanks so much for your reviews thus far, everyone! I hope that it shall only get better from hereon. =) As usual, Tolkien owns all; I just own this fic and its song.

* * *

_"If you want children to keep their feet on the ground, put some responsibility on their shoulders."_ -Abigail Van Buren

* * *

Morning came first to the East March, stretching its pale twilight arms from behind the Old Forest and leaving a dewy blanket of mist over everything that it embraced. It rolled out from between the trunks of the trees and sank through the High Hay like sand through a sieve, creeping silently into the hills and settling down into the shallow dales between them ere spreading slowly onwards to the Brandywine. A thin fog hovered above the river's murmuring cool water and followed its winding path away, away into the south until it became obscured by trees and earth.

The birds had awoken, and the chirrups of the crickets and frogs by the river slowly thinned and grew quiet, not to be heard again until the sun began to sink into the west. The delicate light of dawn grew strong as the sun peered over the treetops and warmed the clouds and sky to orange and pink and yellow—it filtered down between the thickly-leafed clusters of trees to settle upon the grassy earthen roof of Buck Hill, where some of its occupants were already awake and commencing the activities of this beautiful day.

Merry did in fact manage to wake himself before Pippin that morn as he had planned; of course, there was no window in the guest room as it was not on an outer wall, and that lent a great deal of motivation for Merry to drag himself out of bed for fear of it being midday (for boys at his age tend to sleep well past the customary wake-up call). He cantered down the hall and to his room, dressed himself, and returned to wake Pippin and see him to breakfast.

The kitchens at Brandy Hall were another remarkable thing in the morning; sounds of sizzling and cookware clinking and all sorts of delicious aromas filled the air as steam rolled up from the whistling kettles over the fire. The morning sunlight shone down from a louvre in the roof and filled the whole room with a warm, cheerful glow.

Esmeralda and Bryony (the wife of Saradoc's brother, Merimac, and mother of the fair Berilac) were hustling and bustling about cheerfully, sharing the remnants of yesterday's gossip and chatting about that day's agenda between stolen sips of tea. Ez looked up as Merry and Pippin entered the kitchen and greeted, 'Good morning, lads! A bit late in rising but better that than never. Sleep well, I grant?'

Pippin shook the last of his sleepiness from his senses and nodded, and Merry feared him to blurt out that His Dear Sweet Meddy had sung him a night-a-bye song and cuddled up with him and had been goosey and mushy and lovey and all sorts of disgusting things, but all he said was: 'I slep' all night, Auntie!'

'I don't think the Horn-call of Buckland would have woken him,' Merry added with a grateful sigh as he and Pippin seated themselves at the table in the adjoining room, which was actually considered a part of the kitchen as it had been renovated many years earlier to accommodate food preparations for the many Brandybuck relations now living at the Hall. It used to be a small dining room until its size made it practically useless for anything else, and so Old Rorimac (Saradoc's father who was then Master of the Hall) commissioned the doorway of the room be widened and a fireplace put in, as well as a small brick oven. Merry liked to take his breakfasts and casual meals in the new room as it was always a great deal cosier and warmer there in the winter than out in the great, open dining hall where the smooth wood floors and high ceiling made the air a bit chilly. As a child he was rather insecure of being left alone and so he would play games on the floor of the new room while his mother helped cook. As he grew older he would oftentimes assist her with the task of food preparations, and had become something of a decent chef in his own right.

* * *

'What's the Horn-call of Buckland?' Pippin asked Merry once they were seated at the round wooden table in the centre of the new room.

Merry said, 'Well, it's like a siren, you see-'

'A sea-faerie?'

'No, silly. It's an alarm, an emergency signal.'

'Ohhh.' Pippin swung his feet idly as he and Merry helped themselves to a bowl of apples on the table, and Merry told him of the Horn-call while Pippin sat and listened attentively. Esmeralda could not help but to smile to herself as she listened to her son speaking so studiously to his cousin and not mincing any petty details; she knew that Saradoc and Paladin had done rightly when they had paired the two of them together.

She poked her head into the room and said, 'Bry and I shall have a fresh batch of bacon and eggs ready in half a moment.'

'Sounds wonderful!' Merry said. 'Do you need any help?'

'Not at the moment; you just sit here with Pip and wake yourselves up. There's hot water for tea in the kettle over there if you like.'

'Thanks, Mum.'

Esmeralda smiled and disappeared. Pippin turned to face Merry and said, 'You've got the nicest mummy in the whole world.'

'Your mum isn't so bad, either,' winked Merry as he stood from the table and gathered two cups and saucers from the cupboard. 'Would you like some tea, Pippin?'

'Tea? Yuck!' Pippin made a face. 'Tea is gross and bitter!'

'Oh, come now, that's only because you haven't tasted the proper kind yet.' Merry opened the tea cabinet and mused, 'Let's see if we've something on the lighter side of a black tea, and not too strong.' He browsed pensively down the rows of ceramic containers, muttering to himself: 'Perhaps a brew of Laeth Leaf with a bit of dried linden and some cream -no, not cream- some milk and a pinch of sugar, maybe a drop of honey or… bother. I'll just brew what ever sounds best.'

As Pippin watched in fascination, Merry deftly prepared a small pot of tea and poured cups for them both. 'Go on, taste it,' he insisted brightly when Pippin seemed to be more occupied with stirring and staring rather than drinking. The little Took lifted a spoonful and blew the whorls of steam away to cool it, then gingerly sipped while Merry looked on expectantly.

Pippin set the spoon down on the saucer and returned his cousin's gaze. 'It's good!' he said with a slight grin, and Merry nodded prudently to himself, as if he had known it all along.

* * *

After breakfast, Merry took Pippin by the Children's Room where were kept many educational supplies, such as slate-boards and chalk, and sticks of coloured wax for drawing pictures on paper. Hilda Brandybuck was there, keeping an eye on her three children, Doderic, Ilberic and Celandine; though she was actually the wife of Merry's once-removed, first-cousin Seredic, Merry had grown up calling her "Auntie", and so she was still to him. He greeted her and the youngsters while Pippin hung shyly behind him, keeping a firm hold on Merry's shirt sleeve and speaking only meekly and when he was spoken to.

Merry instructed Pippin to gather the slate-board and find some chalk while he went and collected a lawn-blanket for sitting on and some sweet-bread for snacking; though he was unable to play outside at his leisure, Merry fully intended to take advantage of this glorious day in what ever way possible, even if it meant sitting outside and teaching dull, boring letters to his cousin.

Merry took a wicker basket from the kitchen and filled it with a few slices of sweet-bread and a couple of apples, then found the lawn-blanket in the linen closet, folded and tucked it under his arm, and headed out the door to find a nice place under a tree somewhere to set up the school-room. He had just left the white picket fence that went all round the Hall and was thinking of pitching camp in the oak glade when he caught sight of three familiar figures walking down Buck Road, the wide path that ran parallel to the river and was the main route used chiefly by the Brandybuck family to reach the Brandywine Bridge without having to cross behind the Hill and use the road that led past Bucklebury.

Merry looked for a tree to hide behind but he was right at the intersection of the Ferry Road and Buck Road, and there was no place to conceal himself; he prepared to turn round and pretend like he never saw them but his hopes were dashed as they spotted him before he could sneak away, and they called, 'Merry! Hoi there, Meriadoc!'

Merry stopped in his tracks and grimaced. 'Oh, bury me,' he muttered under his breath, and turned round to face his three approaching friends: Merimas, Fredegar (known also as Fatty) and Folco.

'Well, Merry! Fancy seeing you here,' said Merimas with a mischievous smile on his face.

'Yes, fancy indeed,' replied Merry dully.

'How went your first day of mentoring The Nit?'

'It was a stroll through the rose garden. Honestly, Maz. What do you think?'

Folco laughed. 'I thought it was a joke! Who would have thought-' Then he caught the evil look Merry was giving him and collected himself. '-er, terribly sorry, mate. You have my sympathies.'

Fatty said, 'Too bad you're stuck playin' teacher to the Terror of Tookland, otherwise were hoping for you to come along with us; we're heading out to the Bridgefields to test Folco's new kite.'

'The glue just dried last night,' said Folco, and he held up the bright blue kite to show Merry, who suddenly longed to run about with his three friends more than anything else in the world. 'Fatty helped me whittle down the struts like you said and now it's sure to soar!'

'We brought all the string we could fit into our pockets!' said Fatty. 'You wouldn't happen to have any on you, would you, Merry? If the winds are anything like last week we're going to need all the line we can get!'

'No, I haven't got any,' he replied in a voice that seemed to convey the spirit of one who had gotten stuck in a bog and was slowly sinking down into the muck. 'Sorry.'

Merimas gave his cousin a sympathetic smile and patted his back. 'You sound devastated, Mer, but take heart--I give it a week before one of you turns up dead, and then your suffering will've ended,' he said matter-of-factly, 'because if you don't kill him, you're going to kill yourself.'

Merry received this news dubiously. 'Really now,' he muttered, sounding positively thrilled.

'Absolutely!' Merimas insisted. 'Ask Everard; I hear he's almost practically mad now.'

'But most Tooks already are,' added Fatty.

'My mother is a Took,' Merry scowled.

Said Merimas, 'Well, at least that means you're only half mad. Who knows, you might actually bond with the little chap. Through your madness and all that.'

'We're not mad!' snapped Merry.

'We'll see if that's true by the end of the summer,' Merimas said as he and Fatty and Folco departed. 'Good day, Merry! Be sure to give The Nit a kiss for me!'

'And me!' shouted Folco, pursing his lips and making various wet smacking sounds.

'And me, also!' added Fatty, and all three lads walked down the road, laughing out loud.

Merry could feel his ears burning with anger and embarrassment; he clenched his fists and set his jaw, narrowing his eyes at their backs. 'I hope they all step into a rabbit-hole and break their ankles,' he cursed under his breath before he turned and stormed away down the path towards the Hall.

From behind the front gate Pippin trotted out, face bright and hopeful—his expression faded when he saw the cross, antagonised look on Merry's face. 'Meddy?' he asked softly, and the elder hobbit stopped in his tracks and gazed down at his little cousin darkly, saying nothing.

Pippin shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. 'I fetched the chalk and slate for you. Are we goin' to need anything else?'

Merry gritted his teeth and felt his patience (what little he had left of it) slip off into the recesses of his mind, stowing away behind the flaming temper threatening to burst forth from his lips; he wanted to shout and scream at anybody who so much as looked at him, like what he used to do when he was a child and things were not going his way. His tantrums were legendary in the Hall, even more so than Pippin's were at Great Smials. Now he felt the anger towards every single injustice ever committed to him in his younger days rising up into his throat like burning vomit; the times of fun and play were now to be prematurely ended, nay, _stolen_ from him, by being saddled with this burden to look after. He had neither asked nor wanted this—it was simply thrust into his arms and he was told to make it work, somehow.

And now the personification of every thing that had ever gone wrong in his childhood and every thing that will ever go wrong for the rest of his life was standing before him at this very moment, and he had only to open his mouth and scream it away like a straw house in a strong wind, and it would all disappear forever, so he thought.

But something extraordinary happened to Merry just as he parted his lips to unleash his hostility upon the innocent Pippin—he grew up. It wasn't as sudden a change as you might think; a sensible young hobbit had always been there within Merry, waiting for his moment to shine through, remaining hidden in the meanwhile. It was like the first spark from flint that starts the warm, cosy fire or the single flake of snow that rolls down the hill and collects until it becomes a snow-ball; the tiny something that sets everything else into motion.

The gap betwixt Merry's mind and his heart was bridged by a small voice in his head that softly whispered: _"He never did anything to you; he is not to blame. He adores you simply for being who you are. He loves you for reasons even _he_ has not fully come to understand. Do not give him a reason to loth you so early in his life, when he has not yet learnt the meaning of hate. Do not be the one to teach him the failure of love."_

And like that, as the final stone was laid to rest and the bridge of cognizant thought completed, the angry, bitter child was staunched back down into Merry's belly, and a soothing wave of collectedness washed over him like a cool rag upon a fevered brow. Merry straightened his back and let his angry expression melt away into a gentle smile.

'Yes,' he said. 'I believe that's all we're going to need.'

And when Pippin gave a small sigh and grinned, Merry forgot all about Merimas and Folco and Fatty, and even about the wonderful blue kite, because, he realised for the first time, there would always be time for that later.

* * *

Merry assumed that because of Pippin's reluctance to listen to authority that the first week of schooling him was going to be the worst week of both their lives; but surprisingly, Pippin was very compliant and behaved, and paid attention to the letters and words that Merry would spell out for him on the small slate-board. The youngest Took already had a rough grasp on his letters and was able to read a few simple words, what little he had learnt from his exasperated tutors before his attitude caused them to throw up their hands in defeat.

Pippin looked up to his older cousin, indeed, as a brotherly figure that was endowed with a higher degree of authority than if he had actually been of closer relation; Pippin listened and did what Merry asked of him because he loved and respected his cousin, and did not like to see him cross. It was because of this, and Merry's eight years of seniourity over him, that made out of Pippin an apt and diligent pupil. He delighted in learning and, despite his mousy shyness, was insatiably curious and fascinated by the world around him—Merry oftentimes found himself quite out of breath from keeping up with all of his questions, and slowly he began to see Pippin's timidity wear away as the days passed into weeks and he became more familiar with the folks who lived at the Hall. He became a source of laughter and mirth, a breath of fresh air in the intimidating vastness of the smial, one that only a Took was capable of bringing. If Pippin were a flower, he would have been uncurling his petals and basking in the light of the sun that Merry was parting the clouds from.

* * *

One of the most challenging obstacles for Pippin to overcome was the conquering of his strange Westfarthing accent, the thing that -though endearing and adorable as it was- hindered adults' ability to be a fair judge of his growing intellect; no one would take him seriously if he continued to speak like a toddler, so Merry was resolved to cure Pippin of this malady as soon as he could, alas, there never seemed to be time enough to devote an entire day to proper speech. So instead, Merry made up riddles and tongue-twisters for Pippin to practise on his own time, and hoped that somehow, someway, someday, it might all finally sink into place.

The day that formed a true milestone in this subject came in late June when Merry and Pippin were lounging outside under the branches of the large oak in the south garden, going over addition and subtraction:

'Eleven plus seven,' proposed Merry, lying on his back with his legs crossed at the ankles and the brim of a broad straw hat drawn over his eyes.

Pippin, sitting a short breadth away, counted softly on his slender little fingers. 'Eighteen,' he answered.

'Correct. Thirty minus ten.'

'Twenty.'

'Good! Now, here's a difficult one: twenty-one plus fourteen, and no finger-counting this time. Try to figure this one in your head.'

Pippin scrunched up his face in deep contemplation for a moment before replying, 'Firty thive!'

'Ah ah ah,' reprimanded Merry, 'what is the rule of Thy Fervour's Friendly Thread?'

The young hobbit licked his lips and focused upon the branches swaying above his head, and said with deliberation, 'thy fervour's friendly thread fights for thy freedom from the fearsome flight of thirteen frightening, thorny fistles, er, _thistles_.'

'Very good,' said Merry as he sat up. 'Much better than last week. Now, if we can just get you to correctly recite the rules of Fair Violet and the Yawning Lads we'll have come a long way indeed.'

'Can I try them anyway?' implored Pippin eagerly.

'I don't know—_can_ you?'

'_May_ I try them?'

'Well, I suppose so, if you do it slowly. Go ahead—impress me, my pupil.'

'All right! Here goes.' Pippin cleared his throat. 'Verily did fair Violet venture forth from valleys filled with virgin flowers of Valinor's finest vines.'

'Excellent, and not a single mistake! And what of the Yawning Lads?'

Pippin said, 'Laughing, lazy, yawning yads-_lads_! lounged every year with lovely young yade- _ladies_ lolling languidly in yellow daisies.'

Merry smiled and briefly applauded. 'Very well done. Those speech riddles have certainly helped you along. Have you conquered the Red Racers yet?'

Pippin beamed and spouted quickly: 'Many readied, red, mellow racers running rampantly around the broken rose garden created a raucous row!'

'Splendid! And what is my name?'

'Meddy.'

Merry sighed melodramatically and flopped down onto his back, clutching a hand to his breast as he cried, 'You killed me, Pippin! and you were doing so well before, yet still you can't even say my own name! Ah! I shall die!'

The young Took giggled despite himself and dodged the straw hat that his cousin tossed at his head. 'I'm soory. I guess it just takes longer for me to get names right. You know, you'll always be "Meddy" to me.'

Merry rolled his eyes sarcastically and latched his hands behind his head. 'I suppose you'll just have to practise that awful rule until your tongue falls out.'

'I doan't want that.'

'Then practise.'

'_Now_?'

'When else? Go on. We're not goin' in for luncheon until you recite it correctly and say my name.'

'You said that fifteen minutes ago when I was practising my numbers!' complained Pippin. 'I'm tired of reciting rules, Merry, and besides, it's almost past lunch-time I'm hungry!'

'Pippin!' The young Brandybuck launched himself upright so quickly that it startled his cousin a bit (who was probably expecting Merry to shout at him for complaining). 'You did it! You said my name!'

'I did?'

'Yes! Say it again.'

'Meddy.'

'No no no no, you did it wrong again. Think about my name: M-E-R-R-Y. Don't let your tongue touch the top of your mouth—keep it down. Go on. Try it.'

'Merrrrrry,' said Pippin slowly.

'Yes! Now try it faster this time.'

'Merrrry.'

'Go on.'

'Merry…? Merry.' And suddenly it was as if a bright light came on in Pippin's face, and he jumped up with a shout. 'Merry! I said it, Merry! Merry merry merry merry merry!' He skipped about the tree a few times while Merry sat and tried not to laugh at his little cousin's antics, though there were moments when he couldn't restrain himself any longer and let a few chuckles escape.

Pippin saw Merry laughing (for the first time in quite a while, I should mention), and became even more jubilant; he gave one more lap about the tree and tossed himself down across his mentor, knocking the breath quite out of him.

'PEREGRIN TOOK!' roared Merry as the youngster guffawed and squirmed all over him. 'You knocked the bloody, curséd wind out of me! Get off! You might've cracked my damned ribs!'

But Merry was not truly injured and Pippin seemed to know this, especially after nearly two months of close living with him. The ensuing result was the first of presumably hundreds of mock-fights between them; nobody ever ended up with wounds more serious than a scratch or a faint bruise, and was possibly an act most similar to the squabbling of two young ferrets of the same litter, battling for the sake of amusement or out of half-hearted argument.

In any case, the fights between Merry and Pippin always sounded and looked worse than they actually were; Merry was careful not to twist Pippin's arm too severely, and Pippin only bit Merry hard enough to leave an imprint of teeth on his flesh without actually drawing blood. Children were made of tough stuff as the old folks said, and a few bumps on the head or banged-up toes weren't going to be enough to discourage their spirits. Nay, the only thing capable of doing that was having to explain to Mum why your nice clothes were so covered with grass stains and ripped at the seams.

* * *

But for all his newfound confidences, his new friends found in Merry's family and the joy he first felt at writing his first sentence all on his own, Pippin remained insecure in only the most personal aspects of his life. Every night he would call for Merry to come in and sing to him, and on the occasions when Merry could not sneak back into his own bed after Pippin had fallen asleep, he simply ended up sharing a bed with him. As nice as the rooms were at Brandy Hall, the guest beds were something that Merry was not used to sleeping in, ergo when ever he was left with no choice but to spend the night in Pippin's bed, he slept poorly and was never refreshed come morning. He tried diligently to creep out of bed and back to his room when he thought Pippin to be asleep, but the little Took seemed to have a "Missing Merry" sense engrained into his being that woke him up when ever he sensed his cousin's absence.

One particular night when Merry was especially exhausted after crawling back to his own bed, Pippin awoke and called out for him for quite a long while, with no response; Pippin, though frightened of the bogey-monsters under his bed and all the imaginary goblins and beasts that patrolled the halls, slid out of his bed and -with his little heart pounding- padded quietly down to Merry's room and climbed into his bed.

Merry had a much nicer bed by far than any of the guest beds—it was wider, for one thing, and the sheets and quilts on it were softer from continuous wear, if tattered here and there from childhood games where they would be the roof of a great fortress in the mountains, a sail on a pirate ship or the wings of a gigantic bird of prey. Merry had only a few years ago grown out of the stage where he carried a small blanket around for his personal security, and all hobbits seemed to share an appreciation for a stoutly-sewn quilt, no matter how old or shabby it appeared. Merry's blankets never seemed to make Pippin too hot or leave him too cold; they were just right, and Pippin supposed, because they were treasured so greatly by the one whom they were made for.

There was not one but two thick, fluffy feather pillows that had that comforting scent of Merry's hair saturated into them: a fragrance of apple soap and tea leaves and the faint aroma of the trees that grew all about Buck Hill. Pippin would soon come to recognise this scent and take comfort in it, for it meant that His Meddy was there to chase away the monsters and make everything all right.

Naturally Merry was put-off by the initial discovery of a stow-away in his bed the next morning but decided that if this was the only way he was going to get any decent rest that his bed was big enough for the both of them, and from that night henceforth -indeed, for the rest of his childhood and his stay at the Hall- Pippin slept in Merry's bed.

* * *

But there came a night when even Merry could not seem to comfort his little cousin.

He first noticed the slight trembling of the mattress beside him, and then the shudders that grew steadily more pronounced until they started to pull the blanket off of Merry's body; he rolled over and saw Pippin lying with his back to him, crying softly into the pillow.

Merry put a gentle hand on his shoulder and asked, 'What's wrong? What's the matter?'

Pippin didn't answer.

'Are you angry with me?'

Pippin shook his head and rolled over onto his back, turning his tear-streaked face to Merry. 'I miss my Mummy,' he said in the smallest of voices.

Merry's heart immediately ached, and he put his arm around the lad and drew him close. 'There now,' he consoled, 'you'll get to see her again, very soon. She and Uncle Pal are comin' out for a visit next week, and you'll get to spend all day with them. Doesn't that sound nice?'

'But I want to see Mummy _now_,' Pippin wheedled. 'I miss her, and I miss Pearl and Pern and Vin and Daddy and Evry and even Auntie Prisca. I miss Great Smials, and Mummy's flower garden. I m-miss them all, Meddy,' he wept, forgetting himself and nestling against his cousin's side like a poor rabbit in winter who seeks shelter from the bitter snow.

Merry could thing of nought to say or do to ease Pippin's hurting spirits, so he did the only thing he felt was right: he sang.

_Far away, into the night_

_Unreachable by foot or flight_

_Where lonely beats thy aching heart_

_So far away from Home, thou art._

_A trav'ler lost in a distant land_

_Wand'ring blind o'er sea and sand_

_Vainly searching for his home_

_Searching, searching, all alone._

_But on a map not Home is seen_

_Nor mountains high nor valleys green_

_For no place sacred Home can be _

_Save in thy heart, O trav'ler free._

_So lie awake and count the stars_

_And soon the time shall mend thy scars._

_Thy heart shall beat with joy again_

_And find its way home in the end._

Pippin finally drifted off after the third or so time Merry had sung the song, however, now Merry was left awake and unable to go back to sleep. His throat was dry from singing and he decided to make an attempt to steal into the kitchen for a cup of water; he slowly eased himself out from underneath Pippin and stepped lightly out of the room, and turned down the hall towards the kitchen. Hobbits have naturally good eye-sight, and Merry was no exception—he needed no candle to light the familiar path to his most frequent night-stop. He was, however, somewhat startled by the presence of another in the kitchen.

'Mum?' he inquired.

Esmeralda, clad in her dressing gown and robe and sitting at the kitchen table with a small stein of peach ale set before her, smiled sleepily and motioned for Merry to sit down. 'Well, it looks like I've been caught sooner than I expected to be,' she said in good humour. 'I suppose I should be thankful that it was you instead of one of our beloved gadabouts; imagine the talk that would spring up about Esmeralda being a heavy drinker,' she chuckled to herself. 'Anything troubling you, dear?'

'Troubling? No, I just came for some water is all. I'm fine.'

'If you say so. Oh—you'll have to settle for what's in the basin, I'm afraid. One of the well-pipes is leaking and the water-pump got stopped up with dirt. Sare and Marmadas are going to fix it first thing in the morrow. Confound these modern contraptions, I say! I could never get my head around them, pipes and pumps and all that. More bother than they're worth.'

Merry drew water from the basin and sat down beside his mother, sipping in silence. Ez watched him for a time before she said, 'So, how goes the mentoring?'

'Fine,' he replied, and then smiled. 'He wrote an whole page by himself today. We're working on his handwriting and it's getting much better.'

'I know—the laundry room walls are covered in chalk. Luckily it washes right off.'

'What! That little brat! I should have known he was filching sticks when we came up short of five.'

Esmeralda giggled softly. 'Come now, Merry dear. He wants only to impress you. He looks up to you, you know.'

'I do,' said Merry softly. After a long while, he looked up at his mother and confessed, 'I don't know what I'm doing, Mum. I was never given instructions of what to teach him. I could be doing it all wrong, and then he's goin' to grow up being all stupid and daft, and _I_ will be to blame.'

'O Merry!' laughed Ez, 'my dearest Merry, it takes a daft and stupid hobbit to teach another to be daft and stupid, and you are neither, I assure you.'

'But he's bright, and he catches on quickly; I fear I'm runnin' out of things to teach him, and it makes me feel a right idiot just knowin' there are others out there who are more deserving for Pippin's education besides me. I'm too young. I don't know enough.'

Esmeralda took her son's face in her hands and kissed his forehead. 'Only a foolish hobbit thinks he knows everything,' she quoted, 'but the wise hobbit is aware of how little he knows.'

'I don't think I understand you, Mum,' said Merry sadly.

'You will, one day,' she smiled.

Just then Pippin appeared in the door-way, rubbing his eyes. 'I was wonderin' where you went to, Merry,' he said. 'Are you coming back to bed?'

'Yes, in a moment,' he replied. 'Go back and keep my spot warm.'

When Pippin had left, Ez asked, 'The two of you are sharing a bed?'

'Yes. Pip has bogey-monster nightmares and needs someone to hold onto all night.'

'Ah, that sounds like somebody I used to know; a nervous, worried little child who always carried his blanket with him and who could never fall asleep without a night-a-bye song,' Ez winked mischievously and Merry rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

'I grew out of it,' he insisted. 'Really. I'll be fourteen soon, almost a full grown lad.'

'Are you certain?' she jested. 'I think you take more comfort in Pippin's presence than he does in yours.'

'Folly!' scoffed Merry, rising from the table. 'It's late and you're keeping me awake, Mum. Good-night.' He gave his mother a kiss on the cheek and returned to his room where, certainly enough, Pippin had kept a warm spot just for him.

**To Be Continued in the Next Installment: **_A Day in Hobbiton_


End file.
